


How to Woo Bellamy Blake in Five Minutes or Less

by indygoh



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Awkward Conversations, Complete, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Mentions of Sex, bellamy is oblivious, light lime in chapter 3!, pre 02x08?, really this is 3800 plus words of bellamy being awkward and cursing a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indygoh/pseuds/indygoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake "accidentally" overhears Clarke Griffin's plans to seduce him, and he isn't sure if he should be horrified or aroused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this fic is me being a dork in a nutshell. I wanted to write something lighthearted and funny (at least I hope it gets a few laughs) considering all of the angst we get on the show. Also, I had a mighty need for Awkward!Bellamy.
> 
> Also, sorry to all you Finn Fans out there, this one kind of ignores his existence. Not because I hate him, but recent events in the show have made it nearly impossible to mention him without severely dampening the mood, so...
> 
> This is un-beta'd and I wrote it in literally a day, so please forgive the many grammar mistakes you're bound to find. Again, this was for funsies!
> 
> On with the show!
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When all is said and done, Bellamy would insist that this little incident was the universe correcting itself after he tried to be The Nice Guy for once.

 

No, really. The only reason he was in that damn section of the ARK station wreckage was to track down Clarke and tell her to keep a low profile, seeing as her mother was on a warpath. Apparently, sneaking the Chancellor's daughter out into the woods along with a few friends and a couple of high-powered rifles to hunt down some _real_ food was considered a Very Bad Thing That Should Not Be Done Ever. Bellamy and Octavia had already gotten the verbal whipping of a lifetime, and he wanted to warn his fellow miscreants before they were subjected to the same rant-lashing by the incensed Chancellor Griffin. You know, because loyalty and shit.

 

See? Nice guy.

 

He had checked the mess hall and the med bay, even her tiny ass room, but to no avail. The princess had, it seemed, abandoned her usual haunts. Bellamy had come to realize that if Clarke wasn't eating or sleeping, she would be in the med bay stitching up some lunatic that had tried (and failed) to climb the radio tower _again_.

 

(His lips twitched up when he recalled the way her eyes rolled, exasperated, when she had recounted that particular tale to him. _"No, really. He tried to climb it_ twice _in one day. Twice. Whichever girl he's trying to impress, I wish she would either put the guy out of his misery or just jump his bones already. We're running out of anesthetics."_ Leave it to Clarke Griffin to be more concerned about medical supplies than the possible crash and burn of some poor idiot's love life.)

 

And that's how Bellamy found himself in the engineering sector, thinking that Raven might know the whereabouts of said missing princess. Or at least give him a last-known-location sort of deal.

 

"Hey, Raven? Have you seen Clarke? Wanted to give her a... heads up..." Bellamy trailed off when he realized he was talking to nothing but thin air and the local scrap metal, with no dark-haired, snark-mouthed mechanic in sight.

 

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. It was one thing for Clarke to be missing from her normal stomping grounds, but for Raven to not be elbows deep in some sort of machine at this hour was just unheard of. Ludicrous, even.

 

Bellamy looked carefully around the room, as if the sad-looking scrapped projects and loose wires had all the answers for him. Or maybe he was half expecting Raven to pop out of nowhere and kick his ass for breathing on her machinery without her express permission. Seriously, the mocha-skinned she-devil had put the fear of God into him when he had accidentally dropped one of her contraptions once.

 

(He had never been threatened with just a screwdriver and a socket wrench before. It was one of the most terrifying moments of his existence, Grounder war included.)

 

With that particularly horrifying flashback running through his mind, Bellamy was understandably concerned for his life when he heard Raven's voice laughing just outside the door. And right as Bellamy had picked up some funky-looking microchip to inspect too. These two incidents coinciding would surely lead to death. Via screwdriver. Or socket wrench. (He seriously took personal offense against those particular tools now).

 

Acting on pure instinct, Bellamy took a nose-dive for the nearest cover—a rickety-looking desk that seemed to cough dust as he cowered under it. The desk banged and rattled around, threatening to topple right on top of him, and he let out a quiet string of curses. He quickly shut the hell up and steadied the sorry excuse for a work desk above him just as the door slid open and two sets of footsteps (from what he could tell) came waltzing in.

 

"—don't really see why it's such a big deal," Raven said, plucking up one of the tools off the desk he was currently sequestered beneath. He resisted the urge to flinch. Ugh. Raven Reyes and screwdrivers in the same room seemed like a deadly combination right about now.

 

"You should just bang him and get it over with."

 

Wait, what?

 

A very put-upon sigh followed Raven's blunt declaration.

 

"Raven, I don't want to just _bang_ him. I want a relationship. So I have to _seduce_ him."

 

Crap. He recognized that exasperated I'm-smarter-than-you-but-I-won't-tell-you-that-because-that's-rude tone. If Clarke Griffin walked around the desk to see him eavesdropping, however accidental it was, screwdrivers and socket wrenches would be the least of his worries. The princess was far more terrifying than the mechanic, _without_ any tools involved. Right now his biggest concern was that he was apparently overhearing a Very Important Girl Talk That No Boy Should Ever Overhear On Pain Of Death. A slow, slow death.

 

"Seduce, bang... what's the difference?" Raven asked.

 

"The _difference_ is that banging implies a temporary fix, whereas _seducing_ implies a permanent solution. Bang him once and it's out of his system. Seduce him, and he'll be begging for more."

 

Bellamy squirmed under the desk, trying to tune out the two oblivious girls on the other side of the desk. He shouldn't be listening to this. In fact, he felt the need to jam his fingers into his ears and pretend this wasn't happening. But there was a small niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Who the hell were they talking about? He couldn't think of any guys Clarke had shown an interest in lately. Hell, she seemed entirely too busy to pursue a relationship let alone _seduce_ some poor bastard.

 

Raven was silent for a few moments. "I'm not sure if that statement was ridiculous or brilliant."

 

Clarke snorted. "It was definitely brilliant."

 

"So, if you're so smart about banging versus seduction, why are you asking me for advice about this, of all people? I mean, why not Octavia? She's probably the only girl in camp who actually understands the guy."

 

Octavia? Now Bellamy was thoroughly confused. Did Clarke have a crush on some Grounder? A Grounder that Octavia had introduced to her? And Octavia was the only one in camp that understood this mystery person, so he didn't speak English? Oh dear God, what if he was as tatted out as Lincoln? Wait, that wasn't the main problem. How the hell had Bellamy missed Clarke sneaking out of camp to cavort with some nameless, possibly inked-up Grounder warrior dude that didn't speak English? For some reason, the thought made his upper lip curl.

 

The thought that he had missed her sneaking around. Out. Sneaking out. He couldn't give a shit who she snuck around with, tattooed and non-English-speaking or not. Really, they needed to improve the patrols around the fence asap if the princess was managing to ditch camp on the regular.

 

(Bellamy didn't realize it at the time, but he was so fucked. So very, very fucked.)

 

"Okay, for one thing, that would be weird. Like, seriously weird. And second, you've _actually slept with the guy_. I figured if I could ask anyone about seducing him it would be you," Clarke said.

 

"Good point."

 

Bellamy literally felt his brain melt out of his ears, and ooze onto the floor. And then it did a back flip while it was at it. Okay, so Clarke was interested in some possibly inked-out Grounder warrior dude that didn't speak English she had met via Octavia, and the man had _already slept with Raven_? Wasn't there some Girl Rules that this violated, or something? The Bro Code was a little more lax about these things—he assumed. Bellamy had never encountered a situation quite like this one before. But Girl Rules seemed like they should be a little more extensive about such matters. Right?

 

"So? How did you do it?" Clarke asked. Bellamy heard one of the girls scuff their feet on the floor. "How did you get him to sleep with you?"

 

"Ah, c'mon, Clarke. This is Bellamy Blake we're talking about. All I had to do was take my clothes off and I had him in the bag."

 

It took a sorry amount of time for Bellamy's brain to catch up to what was actually happening in that moment. Then a few (billion) thoughts flew into his mind all at once:

 

_Holy shit!_

_Clarke wants to seduce me._

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

_Wait, Clarke knows about me sleeping with Raven? Awkward._

_All it took was a pretty girl taking her clothes off to get me in bed. Does that make me easy?_

_Clarke Fucking Griffin is out to_ seduce _my poor ass. I. Am. Screwed._

 

It took every ounce of his self-control not to squeak like a little bitch.

 

"Did you hear something?"

 

Okay, maybe he _did_ squeak like a little bitch, but he would never admit it even under duress.

 

"I didn't hear anything. Anyway, I don't think that would work. Suddenly stripping seems more like _banging_ sex than _seduction_ sex," Clarke said as he heard her plop down into one of the stools near his hidey-desk.

 

Through his haze of _holy shit Clarke Griffin wants my body_ confusion, Bellamy tried to picture what she must look like right now, all wide (seemingly) innocent eyes and blushing cheeks. She wasn't a particularly shy woman, but he knew she liked to keep things to herself, _especially_ personal things. And this particular conversation seemed like a Very Personal Thing. Even though she was apparently the one seeking out sex advice ( _holy shit!_ ), he imagined she must be giving a tomato a run for its money by now. Hell, even his temperature had spiked a bit. He blamed it on the small space he was squeezed into. Stupid desk.

 

Raven sighed.

 

"Well, I'm not sure what other methods of seduction would work on the guy. I mean, he's pretty thick sometimes. Blake wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped him across that obnoxiously attractive face of his."

 

Bellamy pursed his lips. Well, that stung just a little bit. Just because he preferred the direct approach over dancing around the damn bush didn't mean he wasn't capable of being subtle when the situation called for it. It just so happened that Bellamy never felt like the situation called for subtlety. Nothing wrong with that.

 

One of the girls (he guessed it was Clarke) hopped off her seat and started pacing.

 

"Problem is, he can't feel like he's being seduced, or it won't work. It has to feel as natural as possible."

  
"Okay. So how does one _naturally_ seduce Bellamy Blake?"

  
"I don't know! That's why I was asking you. C'mon, Raven!"

  
"Alright, alright. Let's start with what Bellamy cares about most in the entire world."

  
"Sex?"

 

Bellamy silently choked.

 

"Eh, close, but try again."

 

"...Octavia?"

  
"Exactly. We all know that he's the protective type, right? So let him think that you care deeply about the same thing he does..."

  
"But I really _do_ care about Octavia."

  
Bellamy could practically hear Raven's eyes roll.

  
"Then tell him that, blondie-pants."

  
"Okay, so I tell him I care about his sister... and then I take my clothes off?"

  
There was a long silence while Bellamy contemplated the probability of his heart failing right there under that damn rusty death-trap of a desk. Really, there was only so much a man's heart could take in the span of ten minutes.

 

Then the dark-haired mechanic cracked up. He could only imagine the look on the princess' face.

  
  
"Oh my god, Raven! I don't know what I'm doing!"

  
  
"Calm down—"

  
  
"I've never had to woo someone before! I was always the one being wooed!" Clarke cried. The pacing steps intensified.

 

"Wait, wait. Let's back up," Raven's voice calmed from her manic laughter, but there was still a hint of snickering in her next few words. "Maybe you shouldn't try the traditional methods of seduction, okay? How about we try something that's a little more your style."

 

Bellamy perked up a little, curiosity piqued despite the utter awkwardness and slight humiliation on his end.

 

"Alright. So say you find Bellamy in his tent at the end of the day, like you usually do. What do you do?"

 

"I don't know. Talk about the day's work, and what needs to be done the next day?"

 

"Damn. You two are boring as hell. Try again."

 

"I bring up Octavia?"

 

"Ding, ding! What about Octavia?"

 

"She hasn't been eating enough since we brought Lincoln back a while ago."

 

Bellamy winced. So he wasn't the only one who noticed his sister's lack of appetite. He really needed to talk to her about that. The Grounder had improved since they brought him home to Camp Jaha, but his sister had still been reluctant to eat. It was like she was waiting for Lincoln to completely recover before enjoying a full meal. Bellamy had to grudgingly admit that if _that_ wasn't a show of O's feelings for the Grounder, then he wasn't sure what else was.

 

"Good," Raven continued. "Then what?"

 

"I'm not really sure." Bellamy could imagine Clarke's shrug. "I guess we would keep talking?"

 

"Yup. And all the while you would have been subtly scooting closer to him, right? And by the time you both get into a deeper conversation, you're practically breathing each other's air, then you wait for the right moment, and BAM!"

 

"Bam?"

 

"Jeez, do I need to spell it? You make out!"

 

Bellamy listened to Raven's rant in stunned silence. He could almost picture the scene in his head. Clarke would walk into his tiny, standard ARK dorm looking like death-warmed-over from a long night in the med bay. She would plop down on his cot like she owned it, like she had done it a million times (she had), and then she would spill her guts about her worries--worries they shared because they were the _leaders_ , even without the formal titles. He couldn't deny that if she mentioned O, he would crumble into a puddle of Blake-flavored goo at her feet. It was his one weakness, and Clarke knew it. But he wouldn't resent her for using that tactic—in fact, he would've probably been grateful to have someone to talk to about his brotherly concerns.

  
But he knew that O wouldn't have been their only topic of discussion. That would have just been the opening. He knew that once they got rolling, they would talk about anything and everything—fears, dreams, triumphs and failures. Eventually they would have gotten to the topic of their dead parents, and one of them would've inevitably broken down (but only one of them. That was how they worked, him and Clarke. If one broke then the other had to put the pieces back together). And after the silent crying was over with, he would have given her a big hug, because damn it, they both could've used one.  
  
Then he probably would have kissed her. Or she, him. And if she had pushed beyond that, well he certainly wouldn't have complained. She would have gripped his shirt, because she was the type of girl who needed an anchor, something to keep her grounded while the rest of her tried to fly away. She would plop into his lap and she would kiss him like she was dying, like it was their last kiss, because Clarke Griffin had lost too many of her loved ones to take anything for granted anymore.

 

Then he would have gladly given her anything she wanted. Anything.

  
It all felt so natural in his head that he couldn't believe it actually hadn't happened—that it was a fantasy and not a memory.

 

Bellamy felt his head start to spin.

 

(He was so fucked.)

 

He heard some more feet-scuffing.

 

"But we talk like that all the time and it never led to, well, _that_ before."

  
He dragged a hand down his face. If he'd known their conversations might've lead to _that_ then he would've made a move a long damn time ago. Or started having extra conversations.

  
"Wait. You're telling me that you and Bellamy have been having long, drawn-out heart-to-hearts but haven't had any long, drawn-out rolls in the sack?"

  
"No?" Clarke squeaked.

  
"That's kind of sad, actually."

 

Clarke seemed to squirm. Good. At least he wasn't the only one.

 

"I can never tell what he's thinking. He doesn't look at me a lot when we're talking, so I don't think he's interested in me that way."

 

 _Shit, shit, shit_. The only reason he didn't look at her too much when they spoke was because _he was trying to stare, damn it._ Not because he wasn't interested in jumping her bones! Because he was. _Oh_ he was. And he could finally admit it to himself now because Clarke Griffin wanted to seduce him.

 

Was this real life?

 

"That's a lie," Raven replied. "You're the only girl he pays any attention to besides his sister. Yesterday I saw some chick walk up to him with her boobs falling out of her shirt, and he didn't even do a double-take."

 

Clarke seemed to contemplate that for a moment, while Bellamy tried to remember encountering said boobs-falling-out-of-shirt girl. There was a girl who was in front of him in line at the mess hall yesterday who may have said a few words to him, but he had been looking around for Clarke to see if she had snagged them the good seats near the exit doors...

 

Oh. He sort of had it bad, didn't he?

 

"So!" Raven chirped. "What will you do to him once you get his clothes off?"

 

Bellamy was going to get whiplash from all the shocking turns this conversation was taking. Now it was Clarke who seemed to choke on nothing.

 

"Raven!" Clarke coughed out. "I wasn't planning on going into detail with you _about that._ "

 

"Oh, c'mon! We're both girls here. And I've already slept with him." Seriously. It was so awkward that Clarke knew about that. "So really, there's no reason to be shy."

 

Yes, yes there were plenty of reasons for her to be shy! As in, poor Bellamy Blake was going to die of asphyxiation if this conversation went into any more detail.

 

Clarke paused for a moment, then dropped an atomic bomb:

 

"Well, I wanted to try using my mouth."

 

He was dying. This was what death felt like. A weird combination of awe, disbelief, and arousal.

 

"Oh, ho! Kinky, princess. So you're into that, then?" Raven said with what Bellamy could only imagine was a glib expression on her face.

 

"N-no! I've just never done it before. I was sort of hoping he would show me how..."

 

He felt a hot stab of pleasure pierce his gut as his body responded to her dirty implication.

 

He could imagine most of it—her shy smile as she asked if she could try something, his fingers tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear as she lowered her mouth over his abdomen, slowly working her way lower with his gentle guidance. He could practically feel her nails lightly scratch his abs as she took that first taste—

 

He almost groaned aloud.

 

This was officially the most surreal experience of his young life. Hiding under a death trap disguised as a desk as two girls discussed the most effective way of seducing him while he sported an awkward boner. Seriously, he was a few seconds away from pinching his arm to see if he was actually sleeping.

 

Speaking of awkward boners though, he really needed to, ahem, adjust his. The girls continued to chit-chat (moving on to more PG topics, thank _fuck_ ), so he figured now was his best chance to move if he didn't want them to hear. He shifted a little bit to the side, carefully stretching out his legs so the crotch of his pants wasn't strung too tight across his groin. However, right as he was relaxing into place, one of his boots nudged the desk leg. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the rusty piece of shit made the loudest _creeeeaaaaaak_ he had ever heard.

 

He froze.

 

"What the hell was that?"

 

Fuck! Of _course_ the princess was paranoid enough to pay attention to every little noise. It was one of the things he liked about her—that she paid attention to possible threats—but still!

 

He was preparing to meet his maker as he heard the two girls walking over to his side of the room. This was it. This was how he died. At the hands of two of the most intimidating women in the world while he, Bellamy Blake, Bad-Ass Extraordinaire, cowered beneath a desk.

 

Then suddenly, salvation.

 

The door slid open, and in walked another set of footsteps. Heavier, this time.

 

"Well, hello ladies!" It took a moment for Bellamy to place the voice as Wick's, the guy who had eaten with them a few times in the mess hall, much to Raven's annoyance. "Watcha doin' in here all by yourselves? Wait. I'm not... interrupting am I? I mean, by all means, don't let little ole me stop you... Do you mind if I sell tickets to this?"

 

"Can it, Wick. We're busy, so fuck off," Raven hissed. The girl's advance on Bellamy's hidey spot halted, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

 

"Language, little lady. And no-can-do. Got strict orders from the higher-ups to design a new sustainable energy source. Gonna need the room for that, dearest."

 

Then the heavier footsteps of the three headed toward Bellamy's side of the desk, and he began to panic once again. Wick's eyes would be drawn to him immediately when he rounded the corner, and then the girls would wonder what the hell he was looking at and come to investigate, and then he would be murdered with a screwdriver and a socket wrench—

 

But as Wick's legs came into view, he never looked down. In fact, he walked right up to the desk so that Bellamy's face was awkwardly right at groin-level. Bellamy leaned away as far as the desk would let him. Then turned his face away for good measure. Nothing was more weird than being at crotch-level with someone you _weren't_ about to fuck.

 

"Whatever. Let's go back to my room, Clarke."

 

"Oooh, can I watch?"

 

"Fuck off, you damn pervert!"

 

Wick chuckled until the door opened, then closed again, leaving a weird silence in the room that left Bellamy's ears ringing.

 

"So, Bellamy Blake. Do you make it a habit of hiding under old desks to eavesdrop on unsuspecting girls, or was this just a one-time sort of thing?"

 

Bellamy groaned, and shoved the other man away by his legs (avoiding all contact around the groin area) as he crawled out of the small space with as much dignity as he could muster. He swore the desk spit at him as he straightened up.

 

"Not one damn word, or I will shoot you," Bellamy said, wishing he could spit venom as he watched Wick's eyes crinkle in amusement.

 

"Only if you tell me everything you just heard, you lucky bastard."


	2. The New and Improved Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy drops in at the med bay, and Clarke finds that her plans may need revising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wouldn't, but I knew I would. Here's a follow-up chapter in Clarke's POV! (which is decidedly more difficult to write). There will (hopefully) be another chapter to follow this one as well, just to tidy things up.)
> 
> Chapter takes place a few days after the previous one.
> 
> On with the show!
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bellamy Blake was avoiding her, and it was seriously beginning to grate on her last nerve.

 

Honestly. The guy was being pretty obvious about it, too. He wasn't even _trying_ to hide it. Though Clarke had to admit that 'subtle' didn't seem to be in the older Blake's vocabulary, as Raven had reminded her the other day. Clarke even watched as he did a spin on one foot like a god damn _ballerina_ and proceeded to high-tail it in the opposite direction as soon as he saw her stomping his way. Without any trace of remorse whatsoever.

 

(The movement had been admittedly graceful. If she had attempted the same maneuver, she would have ended up on her ass. That didn't mean she was going to forgive him for it though.)

 

But seriously, did she smell bad or something? She was pretty sure she'd even washed all the blood stains out of her clothes after she finished stitching up the Radio Tower Guy for the fifth time. (Which the Radio Tower Guy assured her would be the _last_ _time_ she had to patch him up, but Clarke wasn't buying what he was selling at that point.)

 

Maybe it was because she had forgotten to wash her mouth out this morning? But her breath couldn't be _that_ bad if everyone else in camp wasn't scurrying away like frightened woodland creatures. Bellamy Blake seemed to scamper into hiding every time she came into view.

 

And, alright, Clarke could admit that it stung her pride a little bit that Bellamy was going around talking to _every other girl in Camp Jaha_ _except_ _for her_. Really, she couldn't even talk to him about the next supply trip into the woods because she couldn't get him to stand still and listen to her for ten seconds. He would just give a half-hearted excuse of needing to be somewhere else—anywhere else—and run the hell away. Either that or he was never alone. He had literally grabbed some random stranger walking by them in a fit of pure desperation yesterday, and proceeded to act like he and this person had Very Important Matters to Discuss Without Clarke Griffin Present. (The poor stranger had looked so spooked she almost felt bad for him. He must have heard about Bellamy Blake's bad rep from someone around camp, and assumed he was going to be knifed any second.)

 

The entire situation was completely baffling. And more than a little frustrating considering Bellamy's sudden bashfulness around her was seriously interfering with The Plan.

 

Yes, The Plan: the ingenious set of steps she and Raven had concocted to seduce their (apparently not) fearless leader into a relationship. Via sex. With her. Which was still a thought that made her face burst into flames, but it had to be done. There was no better way to Bellamy Blake's heart than through his pants, and Clarke was sure of it. (Unless you so happened to be an illegal sibling that'd been hidden under the floor for sixteen years, but that was another matter entirely.)

 

Clarke also wasn't above admitting that this whole avoidance game Bellamy was playing was starting to make her doubt herself and her plan. Just a little. However, Clarke wasn't the type to define herself by the actions of a boy, and of course, she was still a bad ass at the end of the day. But she was a bad ass whose potential boyfriend didn't seem to be reciprocating her interest. Even if it should have been an insignificant thing, something trivial that she was sure he would get over eventually, she still felt a small pang every time he turned and ran away.

 

So now, sans boyfriend to waste all her time with, Clarke was spending entire days sequestered away in the med bay, patching up any and every superficial injury that walked through the door just to keep her mind off of her elusive co-leader.

 

And that was what she was doing—moping around, needlessly organizing and reorganizing the supplies, counting their sad number of remaining needles and trying not to think about a certain pair of deep brown eyes—when Bellamy, the very cause of all of her _numerous_ frustrations, stumbled into the room with his arm slung around the shoulders of a very harassed-looking Wick.

 

"Hiya, princess," Bellamy slurred as he shot her a grin. One of his eyes was swelling shut, and his nose was bleeding (probably broken), but her heart still fluttered at the sight of him. Wow, she had it bad. "I sure hope your day is going better than mine."

 

Clarke's eyebrows shot into her hairline. Not only did Bellamy look like he got the shit beat out of him, he was actually _talking_ to her. Two things she sure as hell wasn't expecting when she woke up this morning.

 

"What the hell happened to you?" Clarke demanded.

 

"I fell," Bellamy shrugged.

 

"Uh huh," Clarke said. "And Wick's knuckles also just happen to be bleeding?"

 

Wick plopped the injured Bellamy down onto a cot, and smiled benevolently at the medic. "I punched the floor for so carelessly injuring our fearless leader."

 

Bellamy clapped Wick on the back. "A true friend, this one."

 

Clarke sighed. "Let me clean you both up."

 

She left the room to gather the necessary supplies—clean rags and some of Monty's patented moonshine. Neither of them seemed to need stitches. (Thank goodness—they were running low thanks to the misadventures of Radio Tower Guy.)

 

Clarke couldn't help but wonder why Bellamy had let Wick beat the crap out of him. And he _had_ let him—Wick didn't have any injuries aside from the abrasions on his knuckles, which would've never happened if Bellamy didn't want it to happen. No one punched the former rebel leader without immediate and _lethal_ reciprocation on his part. The very fact that Wick was still walking was testimony to the fact that something very strange was going on here.

 

She paused at the supply closet door when she heard the boys' low voices growling from the other side. Curious, she cracked the door as quietly as possible, glad that the door was behind them and not in front of them, and put her ear next to it trying to pick out their words.

 

"—told me to, you masochistic bastard. I wasn't about to half-ass your request to beat the shit outta you," Wick grumbled.

 

"You could've punched me in the ribs, or something. You didn't have to fuck up my face," Bellamy grumbled right back.

 

"You're probably right. Your face is about the only thing you've got going for you."

 

Ouch. Clarke winced on Bellamy's behalf.

 

"Fuck off. And, yes, my face looking as pretty as ever is kind of important to the plan. You know, the plan we talked about _right_ _before_ _you broke my nose_?"

 

The plan? That was copy-catting. Bellamy wasn't allowed to call his plan The Plan. That was her idea.

 

Wait, what was his plan?

 

"Ah, yes. The 'rough you up so you had an excuse to go see your girlfriend whom you've been avoiding like a little brat since you found out she was gonna try to seduce you' plan."

 

Clarke stopped breathing for a few seconds.

 

_What?_

 

Then she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. _Shit, shit, shit!_ How the hell had Bellamy found out about The Plan?! Fuck! Had Raven spilled the beans to Wick, who then blabbed to Bellamy? Wait. Clarke didn't remember the two men being close friends. Why would Wick talk to Bellamy about their relationship in the first place? Was he just a vindictive bastard, or what?

 

Her head started to spin as she tried to make sense of everything at once.

 

"Okay. First off, she isn't my girlfriend. That's the whole point. And secondly, the avoidance was intentional. Gotta keep her chasing if I'm going to turn this all around."

 

So that's how it was? He was going to _turn this around_ on her, was he? That's why he'd been ignoring her? He was playing hard to get? She resisted the urge to scoff. Stupid boy, trying to turn The Plan against her. He had _no idea_ what he was getting himself into. Clarke smirked to herself as The Plan began to reform itself in her head.

 

This was going to be fun.

 

"And there's another thing," Wick continued. "Why do you _want_ to turn it around? Seems to me being seduced by the girl you're into could be one hell of a good time."

 

That _was_ the million dollar question, wasn't it?

 

Bellamy shifted around on the rickety cot. "Look, Clarke is the kind of girl who does things she isn't comfortable with to achieve certain ends. While the situation the girls talked about was... intriguing... I know Clarke would have felt like she manipulated me into it," he reached up to scratch his neck, one of his nervous habits. "So I'll be doing the manipulation, and she won't have any reason to feel guilty about it."

 

So he _did_ care about how all of this might've been affecting her. Aw. That was the sweetest thing that wasn't actually said to her.

 

"Wait. So you're going to manipulate and seduce Clarke so she doesn't have to manipulate and seduce you?"

 

"About sums it up, yeah."

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

"That's stupid."

 

"Never said I was the intelligent type."

 

Wick nodded solemnly. "So what's next?"

 

"Well, first I need to find the right time to kiss her, you know, just to get things rolling. What better time than when she's stitching me up? She'll be close—"

 

"Oh yeah, because blood leaking from the nose is _such_ a turn on."

 

"Listen, I wouldn't be _bleeding_ if you had just avoided my face—"

 

"You didn't say not to hit your face, you just said to beat you up—"

 

"Which you weirdly enjoyed, you sadist—"

 

"I know," Wick grinned. "I think Reyes is rubbing off on me."

 

Bellamy shuddered.

 

"Okay, gross. I don't want to know about either of you rubbing off on each other. And so long as there aren't any screwdrivers involved, Raven might be a good influence on you."

 

"Screwdrivers?"

 

Clarke decided she had heard enough. It was time to make her grand re-entrance.

 

"Alright! I've got everything I need," she said in an overly chipper voice as she loudly shoved the door open. "Oh! Am I... interrupting? Hey, don't let me stop you. Can I sell tickets to this?"

 

Bellamy seemed to blanche while Wick just laughed aloud, infallible in the face of her mocking tone as she parroted the words he said to her and Raven the other day.

 

"Not at all, Princess. Feel free to sell a few tickets. The show will be going on _all night long_."

 

Bellamy coughed, choking. Clarke just laughed (despite her brightly flushed cheeks).

 

"Okay, okay. How about I clean your fists of fury and you get the hell out of here before things get out of hand?"

 

"Or before things get _into_ hand, if you know what I mean."

 

It looked like Bellamy was about to keel over.

 

"Shut the hell up, Wick."

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

As Clarke went about fixing up Wick's knuckles, she felt Bellamy's eyes burning a hole into the side of her head from the sheer intensity of his gaze. She tried to stay focused, but the rebel king was making it a little difficult. She could feel heat slowly climbing up her neck into her face, down her arms and legs, until all of her fingers and toes were absolutely tingling. She felt an insistent twitch in her lower stomach.

 

This was getting awkward.

 

Wick seemed to smile knowingly.

 

"You're good to go," she said to Wick.

 

"I'll just leave you two crazy kids alone then," Wick waggled his eyebrows at Bellamy (subtle) before high-tailing it out the med bay doors.

 

Clarke didn't give Bellamy the chance to talk before she quickly grabbed his jaw to hold him still, and leaned in close, their lips so close they almost touched—

 

"Uh, Princess? What are you—OW! HOLY SHIT! Ah, damn! My fuckin' nose!"

 

—and promptly popped the broken cartilage of his schnoz back into place with a hard shove and a wince-worthy _crunch_.

 

"Fuck! What the hell was that for, Princess!?"

 

Clarke shrugged off his curses. "I can't believe after everything we've been through, this is the first time someone busted your nose."

 

Bellamy was hunched over on the bed, moaning in apparent agony, clutching his nose and leaning away from her like she might whip a gun out and shoot him right then and there.

 

"How do you know that?" he practically whimpered through his fingers.

 

"Tilt your head forward, not back. Let all the blood out," Clarke said distractedly. "And I know because your nose is perfectly straight. At least it was. There shouldn't be too much of a bump, though. I set it pretty well," she laughed. "You're devastating good-looks shouldn't be in too much danger."

 

"Yeah, thanks," his said, bitter sarcasm dripping off his tongue.

 

Clarke just smiled innocently and started cleaning the small cut he had right above his left eyebrow. It wasn't a terrible injury, but it might leave a scar. She pursed her lips as she slowly wiped the blood and sweat away from his face. She could barely see his freckles through all that grime, an offense that should be punishable by death. What? His freckles were one of her favorite features.

 

Bellamy's eyes slid shut, and he leaned into her gentle touch.

 

Oh, he knew her so well. He knew that taking care of others was her biggest weakness. Just as Raven had thought using the topic of Octavia would weaken Bellamy's defenses, he was now seeking to crumble her walls by appearing vulnerable and in need of her care. _That_ was why Bellamy had let Wick to beat the shit out of him—for the sole purpose of getting even more under her skin than he already was.

 

She wasn't sure if she should laugh or punch the guy herself.

 

Had she not just overheard the two men talking about it, this little tactic of his might've worked. But now her defenses were iron-clad. There would be no seduction from Mr. Blake today, no sir. Not even a little bit. She was hip to his clever game.

 

But she gave herself a moment to _imagine_ it anyway—what was the harm in that? She pictured how he might have leaned into her palm, nuzzling into the sensitive skin there. How she would've leaned forward, careful of his sore nose, and kissed him right on the mouth, and be damned with the brazenness of it all. They would've drowned in each other, letting everything else slip away. His hands probably would have found purchase on her hips before drifting to her rear, where he would have used the leverage to pull her right into his lap as his tongue slipped past her lips—

 

And _that was enough of that_. Clarke took a deep breath, trying to urge the blood out of her cheeks by sheer force of will.

 

(So much for no seduction from him. He didn't even have to try and she was all hot and bothered. Completely pathetic.)

 

She impatiently swiped the curly hair from his forehead, exasperated with her own thoughts.

 

She took the time to examine him while his eyes were still closed. He was all tan skin and worry lines, a leader even in appearance and demeanor. He still wore the same blue shirt and black jacket that seemed to fit him so well, along with his slightly beat-up dark pants. For once, he didn't have his rifle slung over his shoulder. She sort of found that she missed it.

 

Her eyes traveled down the bulk of his shoulder to his thick arms, and down further to his hands. They gripped the cot below him, fingers digging into the rough cotton, as if he was stopping himself from touching her. The idea that he was intentionally holding himself back made her shiver all over. It was almost ironic—the rebel king, the famous womanizer in those first few weeks on the ground, stopping himself from touching a girl that he actually liked.

 

For some reason, the thought made her smile.

 

"What are you thinking about?" Bellamy whispered, their foreheads close to touching.

 

Her eyes snapped back to his face, embarrassed to be caught staring at his _hands_ of all things. He was watching her face, staring right into her soul. She almost squirmed under the weight of those dark eyes. Seriously, he could probably use them as weapons of mass destruction.

 

"You," she admitted slowly. "And how you would let Wick beat you up just so you had a lousy excuse to come here after days of avoiding me."

 

He gave her a lopsided smirk that sent her heart pounding.

 

Oh, she was so screwed.

 

"Busted, huh?"

"Afraid so. There must be something in the water here in camp."

 

"Huh?" Bellamy's eyebrows scrunched up. (It was kind of adorable.)

 

"Well, all the guys in Camp Jaha seem to think that getting injured is the only way to get a girl's attention."

 

Bellamy pretended to ponder that. "Hmm. Guess I'll have to talk to Radio Tower Guy about that. He was gonna lop off an arm next if that girl didn't start noticing him."

 

Clarke rolled her eyes, but laughed all the same.

 

"Alright, you're all done," Clarke smirked. Time to put the New and Improved Plan into motion.

 

She leaned into him, running her hands along his shoulders up to the back of his neck, playing with the curled hair at the top of his spine. Bellamy stiffened up immediately, his back going ridgid, and she almost gave herself away by bursting into laughter. She nuzzled her nose into his cheek, nearly pressing her lips to his jaw line. He let out a quiet sigh.

 

She almost felt bad for what she would have to do next.

 

"Time for you to go!" She leapt back suddenly, retreating all the way to the other side of the room. She mourned the loss of their quiet intimacy, but comforted herself that this was all for the sake of The New and Improved Plan.

 

Clarke snickered quietly when she saw the look on his face.

 

"Wha—?" Bellamy seemed dazed, whether from her previous closeness or her sudden retreat, she couldn't be sure.

 

"What? You're all stitched back together. No reason to linger, right?"

 

He stared at her like her head had split in half. His look was part horror, part bafflement.

 

"Uh. Right. I'll just... go, then," he said as he stood slowly from the cot. He seemed to be taking his time, hoping she might change her mind. She just shooed him with a careless wave of her hand.

 

"Mmhmm. No time to dawdle. Got other patients to take care of."

 

Bellamy looked around the empty room. She smiled enigmatically at him.

 

"Right. Uhm," he looked around like a lost child. "See you later, I guess?"

 

Oh yes. Yes he would _definitely_ be seeing her later.

 

She nodded. "Try not to get beat up on your way out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Let me know what you all think! Final chapter coming soon (hopefully!)


	3. Love it When a Plan Comes Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy is at a loss, but Clarke is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, final chapter! Fair warning, this one earns the M rating if you get my meaning. Nothing super explicit, but, yeah. Just a bit of lime.
> 
> On with the story!
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bellamy Blake was freaking the fuck out.

 

He had never been more confused about a girl in his entire life, and he had _plenty_ of experience figuring out what made girls tick. Growing up with his mother and sister in a small, enclosed space had ensured that he knew how to maneuver around a woman's thoughts, feelings, and mood swings. How to predict their reactions and adjust his actions accordingly. After twenty-plus years of practice, he had it down to a science, really. It was one of the few things he didn't completely fuck up.

 

So the fact that he was at a complete loss about a certain Clarke Griffin gave him lots of reasons to be anxious. Hence, freaking the fuck out.

 

After their... incident... in the med bay and Clarke practically throwing him out on his ass, Bellamy was at a loss of what to do next. What did she want exactly? She had talked to Raven like she was ready to jump his bones any second, and her little play in the medical wing had suggested that was still true. But then she had backed off just as things were getting good—very, _very_ good—and jumped away from him like he was acid fog, and she would get angry, puss-filled blisters if she touched him. Honestly it was a little insulting.

 

Maybe the blood running out of his nose really _had_ been a turn-off, as Wick had so helpfully mentioned. Either that or she was repulsed by his swollen, black eye which _still_ hadn't lost its greenish hue days later. (Damn that engineer and his wicked left hook. His nose still throbbed in pain at the memory.)

 

If that was the case, he could understand. Clarke had seen enough blood and gore after they crash-landed on this damn planet. Really he should have come up with a better excuse to see her rather than subject her to the sight of his ugly, busted-up mug. He couldn't blame the girl for being squeamish at the look of him.

 

But if that were the case, then why had she gotten all up in his business while she was patching him up? Why had she buried those steady, eager fingers in his hair and nuzzled into him like he was a damn teddy bear?

 

 After that little situation, he needed a distraction. Fast.

 

Luckily, a hunting party was being put together that morning (this time with Chancellor Griffin's seal of approval, so there would be no vicious, verbal reprimandings this time) and Bellamy signed up so fast it left Marcus Kane's head spinning.

 

Now he was sitting near a fire, cleaning his rifle (lovingly) and putting a pack together for the two day trip into the woods. He was not thinking about the princess. At all. He was an infallible wall of focus, thinking only about the best hunting spots, the best trails to follow, and how to get the others to quiet their damn footsteps so he could actually shoot something—

 

"Where do you think you're going?"

 

Damn it.

 

"Hunting," he told the blonde-haired medic. He didn't even have to look up to know it was her. That haughty I'm-better-than-you-but-I-won't-tell-you-that-because-that's-rude tone was burned into his eardrums. Even more so since he had eavesdropped on her and Raven's little conversation about seduction, and taking clothes off, and using mouths—

 

"Hunting? With your injuries?" Clarke put her hands on her hips, and Bellamy swallowed.

 

"It was a fist-fight, Princess. Not a bullet to the chest."

 

(He didn't even bother with the 'I fell' excuse. It had been a pretty bad lie in the first place, one she had sniffed out immediately.)

 

She pursed her lips.

 

"Your eye is still swollen."

 

Bellamy lifted his eyebrows above two Very Not Swollen eyes.

 

She huffed. "Your nose hasn't healed all the way."

 

He scoffed. "So I'm just supposed to stay tucked safely in my tent until it does?" Like hell, he would. Someone would have to chain him to the bed to keep him in one place that long. Not that he would mind overly much if a _certain_ person chained him to his bed, but that was far too complicated to delve into at the moment.

 

"You shouldn't go," she twiddled her fingers. "What if somebody accidentally hits it, and I'm not there to reset it?"

 

Okay. What the hell was happening here? She was worried about his _nose_? What was the rest of him, chopped liver?

 

"I'm pretty sure my nose will be alright without you, Clarke."

 

Her feet shuffled and his eyes tracked the movement.

 

"Don't go," she said, looking right into his eyes. She did the eyebrow thing, where one of them inched a little higher than the other, imploring him to just _listen_ to her, damn it.

 

Nope. Not falling for it.

 

"I'm going," he said. "Kane needs all the shooters he can get to guard the archers." A few of the ARK people had picked up bows and arrows for hunting, courtesy of Lexa and her Grounder army. But the woods were still dangerous, and the scary-ass Mountain Men were out there, so they still brought their high-powered rifles on every hunting trip. You know, Just in case they needed to kick some extra ass.

 

Clarke's nose scrunched up, a sign that he was about to be In Deep Shit.

 

"I'll be back before you know it!" he placated quickly. "And with food. _Real_ food. That your mom won't yell at us for getting."

 

She sighed, defeated by the temptation of a good meal. "Is there any way I can... convince you to stay?" She lifted a brow at him.

 

Bellamy choked.

 

Oh, there were _so many ways_ she could convince him. Plenty of ways. That involved a locked door and minimal clothing.

 

_Shut it down, Blake._

 

He smiled at her, hoping it didn't look like a dopey grin. Man, he was a complete doofus around this girl.

 

"Nope." He needed to clear his head, and he couldn't do that here, where he seemed to run into the blonde-haired cause of all his muddled thoughts around every damn corner.

 

"Fine. But if you don't bring back something delicious, then I won't check on your nose when you get back. I'll let it heal into a goofy-looking shape. Your good-looks will be dashed."

 

"Deal."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

True to his word, Bellamy came back with the hunting party two days later, dragging an elk and two foxes with them. They had gotten lucky—they could use the pelts for the coming winter, even if they were minimal. At least he could make a cozy fur hat for Princess or something, while the rest of them froze their asses off.

 

What? Priorities.

 

As soon as he walked into the gate, he scanned the crowd for Clarke but couldn't see her. He felt a pang of worry. She was usually waiting at the gate when any hunting party returned, checking for injuries and illness. If someone came back infected with a deadly disease, Clarke was the one who threw their sorry asses into quarantine.

 

So the fact that she wasn't there to greet them left a niggling feeling in his gut.

 

He went to the med bay first, but the other orderlies there told him that they hadn't seen her since yesterday evening. His next stop was the mess hall where he ran into Wick and Raven, who said they hadn't seen her since that morning. He even went to her quarters, but couldn't find the princess there, either.

 

Now he was getting déjà vu.

 

Defeated, he went back toward his room, but froze when he heard voices inside and realized his door was cracked open.

 

"—you doing in my brother's room?" He recognized Octavia's voice. She almost sounded amused.

 

"Nothing. I was just checking if he was back yet." Clarke's voice followed.

 

Shit. Not this again!

 

"Uh huh. If you were so worried, why weren't you out by the gate where you usually wait for him?"

 

"Um. Well, I thought since it was so late he might have come straight to his room anyway, and I was in the area..." Clarke sounded nervous.

 

"Bull honkey!" O sang cheerfully. "I bet you just wanted to catch him unawares, waiting here in his room—"

 

"No! Really, I was just walking by—"

 

"You were laying in his bed—"

 

"My feet are a little sore—"

 

"Is that a candle burning—?"

 

"It was _dark_."

 

"Oh my god, you're trying to seduce my brother!" Bellamy winced as Octavia's voice carried down the hallway. He seriously hoped no one heard that. He ran an exasperated hand down his face. How many times was this whole accidental eavesdropping thing going to happen? It was going to send him into an early grave.

 

"Shh! Octavia, be quiet!"

 

"Sorry! It's just a little bit weird. I mean, he's my brother..."

 

Yeah, no kidding.

 

"... I am _not_ talking about this with you."

 

_Oh, thank god._

 

"Oh, thank god."

 

He almost chuckled. Of course he and his sister would think alike at a time like this.

 

"Well, I'll just leave you to it, then," Octavia said as a pair of footsteps walked toward the door.

 

Fuck!

 

He looked for a place to hide—he would've taken the rickety, death-trap desk at that point—but it was too late. The door slid open and there was his sister, right in his face. And just behind her was Clarke, sitting on his bed, watching Octavia leave. There was no way she would miss him standing there right in the doorway.

 

Sure enough, their eyes locked. Something in his mind snapped.

 

Octavia looked between them cautiously. "Well, this is awkward."

 

"No shit," he and Clarke said in tandem, not looking away.

 

"Umm. I'm just gonna... yeah." Octavia slipped past him, scurrying down the hall and out of sight.

 

Clarke stood up, and he resisted the urge to bolt. She slowly walked toward him and he began to panic. This was it. This was how he died—she was gonna smack the _shit_ out of him, even if this _was_ his room and he had every right to be standing outside his own door—

 

She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and yanked him into the room. The door closed behind him and it sounded a lot like a gunshot.

 

He gulped.

 

She looked like a goddamn hurricane standing right there in the middle of his room. He had seen what hurricanes looked like from space—swirling white masses that spanned over miles and miles of blue ocean, tearing into anything in its path—but he had never witnessed one in person. The most he had seen was a rainstorm. But right there, in that moment, he felt like Clarke was what a hurricane would feel like on the ground: Intense, probably deadly, but also hauntingly beautiful. Something that inspired awe by merely existing.

 

Then the storm in her eyes shifted, calmed, warmed, and he felt his bones melt onto the floor.

 

"So, I'm guessing you heard all that," she said, fiddling with a strand of her hair.

 

Bellamy was torn. On one hand, he could deny it and keep playing their little game of cat-and-mouse. He could say he didn't hear anything, and give her an escape route. She would stumble nervously out of his room, and he would blindly follow—like he always did, it seemed—and they would go sit by the fire, chatting with their friends about the successful hunting trip. Then he would go back to bed, and fall asleep to the imagined feel of her skin on his.

 

Screw that.

 

"Yeah, I heard it."

 

She paled. "Really, I don't know what your sister was talking about. I was just walking by your room, and I thought you might have come back already and then my feet were kinda sore because I was in the med bay all day today, and can you believe that Radio Tower Guy was in there again! And so I sat on your bed, and then Octavia came in and—"

 

Bellamy quickly covered her rambling mouth with his palm, silencing her rant.

 

"I heard you a while ago, too. With Raven. About me," he said slowly.

 

It seemed to take her a second to register his words. When she did, her eyes widened, even with his hand still over her mouth. She smacked it away.

 

"You _spied_ on me!"

 

"No!" he said quickly, holding up his hands in a Please Don't Shoot fashion. "It was an accident, I swear—"

 

"Oh, don't give me that. I can't believe you!"

 

He was so dead.

 

"Clarke, I _promise_ you. If I had known that's what you two would be talking about, I wouldn't have listened—"

 

"So when you realized what we were talking about you just... kept listening?"

 

He felt a few drops of sweat trickle down his temples onto his neck.

 

"Uhm... well, yeah. I mean, can you blame me? You were talking about me, so..."

 

"That doesn't give you the right to eavesdrop." She growled.

 

"Well, you both would have killed me if you had found me there! It was a no-win situation!" He threw his hands up.

 

They both glared.

 

This was not how Bellamy pictured this conversation going. They should have been swapping spit by now.

 

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have listened."

 

Clarke just looked away, her face turning red. Then she sighed, tilting her face toward the ceiling.

 

"This was not part of the New and Improved Plan."

 

"The what now?"

 

"You know. The Plan you overheard? Well I re-worked it after I... Oh." She scratched the back of her head, looking everywhere around the room but at him.

 

"Re-worked it after you what?"

 

"Hey, how was your hunting trip?"

 

"Clarke."

 

"It rained yesterday. Must've been hard to track anything—"

 

" _Princess._ "

 

She shuffled her feet. Bellamy noticed she had been doing that a lot lately.

 

"Well I guess fair is fair," she said. She turned to face him like he was her executioner. "I overheard you and Wick talking about _me_ when you came to the med bay a while back."

 

Well, fuck.

 

"Huh," he said eloquently. He could feel his face heating up. This was humiliating. He suddenly couldn't blame her for being so pissed at him a few minutes ago. He went through everything he and Wick had talked about while Clarke had been in the supply closet (for what he now realized was a suspiciously long time) and suddenly felt like sinking into the floor.

 

"You heard that?"

 

"Yeah."

 

_Fuck! Shit, god damn, fucking, fuck fuck—_

 

A few beats of silence.

 

Then, as if she could read his mind, the princess began to chuckle.

 

"What was that?" he asked.

 

A second later she was outright _laughing_ at him.

 

"Stop that," he said, indignant.

 

She just cackled harder. He thought he heard a snort.

 

"Oh my god. This is so stupid!"

 

"Stop laughing!"

 

"I can't!" She wiped a tear from her eye. "It's just too rich!"

 

He stared at her in wonder, feeling the need to stomp his foot like a child. It wasn't _that_ funny!

 

"Knock it off, or I'll _make you_ ," he growled, his voice lower and more menacing than he meant it to be.

 

She stopped. Silence. A break in the storm. Then—

 

"So make me."

 

Before she could blink, his lips were on hers, and she was hmmm-ing into his mouth, and he had never, _ever_ had it this damn good. She smelled like wild flowers and freedom. Like the fresh grass after a long rain. It made his lungs ache and his heart soar all at the same time. He drank her in like a man on the verge of drying up and crumbling away.

 

He was turning into some kind of sap, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

 

His hands found her ass without his permission, but she didn't pull away to slap him so he kept them there, tempting fate. He pulled her close—she had to go up on her tip-toes—so their bellies lined up, and their chests moved together as they breathed. She made a little noise against his lips that told him he was definitely doing something right. He thought that was a monumental achievement considering his brain flew out the window the second he tasted her lips. He angled his jaw, kissed her harder.

 

Somehow, she backed him up all the way up to his bed, where the back of his knees hit the mattress and he plopped down. She didn't waste any time before crawling into his lap and re-attaching their mouths. He craned his neck back as she buried her fingers in his hair. Her tongue swiped at his lower lip shyly and he groaned, surrendering to her. She explored slowly, carefully. Like she didn't want to scare him. That, or she was savoring it and wasn't _that_ the sexiest thing ever.

 

He felt the need to go slow with her—to be as gentle as possible. He wanted this to be a moment she cherished, that she would remember with fondness when they were both old and wrinkled and she thought back to their first kiss. This was something Clarke deserved after everything they went through. Something simple, filled with careful touches and happy sighs into each other's lips. He would control his libido even if it killed him, damn it.

 

Then her hips began to rock against him, and he gasped into her mouth. The jolt that went through him felt like he had touched a live-wire.

 

"Cl—Clarke?—Ah! _Shit_ —Uhmm... wait a second."

 

She licked his lip, and he held on for dear life.

 

"Shut up," she said against his chin.

 

"Okay," he squeaked.

 

She continued to grind her hips into his groin, and he _swore_ that those needy little noises filling the room did _not_ belong to him. Those sounds were from some pathetic little teenage boy who had never grinded with a hot girl before. Definitely not from Bellamy Blake, sex extraordinaire.

 

So much for taking it slow. Apparently the princess was having none of that.

 

He let out a particularly embarrassing moan when she buried her face in his neck and bit down, and she smiled against his throat.

 

Alright, he had some pride to recover.

 

He grabbed her rear once again and jerked her forward, angling her hips over the bulge in his pants so it rubbed against her _just so_ —

 

"Ah! Bellamy!" Clarke's back arched and her fingers clawed into his shoulders. Her hips stuttered and jerked against him.

 

That was better.

 

He set an unyielding pace, and she let out small whimpers as they rocked together, her sounds muffled into the slightly abused skin of his neck. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, and he had never felt so close to anyone before. He had slept with plenty of women right after they came crashing from the sky. But right now, with all of their clothes still on, he felt like he was touching Clarke in far more intimate ways than any of those other girls.

 

Fuck, he was definitely in love with this wild woman currently driving him out of his mind—

 

The realization knocked the air right out of his chest, and he felt the overwhelming need begin to build in his groin.

 

_Shit, shit, shit!_

 

He stopped them instantly, stilling her hips and trying to reign himself back from the edge. He took a few deep gulps of air and buried his nose into her hair. Savoring this. Savoring _her_.

 

He was still so very screwed.

 

She panted, wiggling in his lap. No doubt frustrated beyond belief.

 

"Why'd you stop?" she whined, bringing her forehead to his. He rubbed their noses together, despite the slight pain, as his was still broken.

 

"Just give me a sec, Princess." _Before I come in my pants_ , he thought sardonically.

 

Clarke kissed him lightly, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Her nails carefully scratched up the back of his neck and into his hair, and he sighed. He had definitely died and gone to heaven. Earth couldn't possibly feel this awesome.

 

Suddenly, she pushed against his shoulders until he was flat on his back.

 

"Wha—?"

 

The princess smiled benevolently as she sat straight up and began to rotate her hips in agonizingly slow circles over his crotch.

 

"Shhhhiiit..."

 

She giggled, _fucking giggled_ , and scraped her nails down his shirt, over his abs, until they hooked into his belt. She didn't pull his pants down, she just clung onto it like it was a saddle, and she was riding him like he was a damn prized stallion. Yee-fucking-haw.

 

"Clarke!"

 

"Hmmm?" she smiled down at him, an angel and a devil all at once.

 

He bucked beneath her, unable to control his hips, and he watched her breasts bounce with every move. Her mouth made a little 'o' as she threw her head back and that was it, he was at his damn limit. His whole body throbbed with pleasure. Every place she touched zinged and tingled. He dug his fingers into her hips (he hoped he didn't leave marks, she had enough damn bruises) and bucked against her until he tumbled over the edge, her name a prayer and a plea on in his throat.

 

She fell forward onto his chest, and he was having trouble gulping down air, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to sit up. Not that he even wanted her to. He ran his fingers through her hair, not minding when they inevitably became tangled in it. That was where his hands belonged anyway—tangled up in Clarke Griffin somehow.

 

"That was fun," she whispered against his jaw. Her hips still moved in little circles against him, making his mind go even more blank.

 

"Hnngg?"

 

The princess just chuckled at him, planting butterfly kisses on his collarbone.

 

"I'm so glad I decided to try this whole seduction thing out."

 

He couldn't agree more.

 

"I mean, I thought it would be a lot more difficult to get you off."

 

Wait. What?

 

"I thought you were some kind of sexpert or something, since you slept around so much, but _now_ look at you. Way too easy."

 

Woah, woah, woah. Back the fuck up.

 

His eyes snapped open to see her smirking at him.

 

Girls were _crazy._

 

"What? Care to prove me wrong?"

 

His felt his eyebrow twitch. It was amazing how good she was at this 'Seduce Bellamy' bullshit.

 

Bellamy Blake flipped Clarke Griffin beneath him, pinning her to his bed. She laughed at him, then moaned when his hands started to wander.

 

"My turn," he grinned, and got to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! This was my first m-rated fic, so I really want to know how it went. See you all in the next one!


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